It started as an addiction. I couldn’t help it. There was nothing I could do about it. I would read anything and everything I saw.

At first, it started slowly. I didn’t think there was anything harmful with something as simple as Repunzel. It was suppose to be an easy read for any kindergartner. But after the first time, I knew I couldn’t get enough. I had to get more.

My reading didn’t stop with the easy-to-read books. While sitting in the back seat of my parents’ car, I would eagerly look at the signs that passed. Soon phrases such as “buy one, get one free” or “three-day sale” became a part of my everyday vocabulary.

I remember telling my mom how we should go downtown to the electronics repair shop because they were offering a two-for-one deal. If we gave them a radio to fix, the next item we brought in would be free. Of course, my poor mom looked at me like I was crazy. She had no idea what I was talking about.

However, soon I was going to graduate from reading the neon signs which littered the downtown area and the children’s books that filled my Mickey Mouse bookshelf beside my bed. As a first grader, my mom took me to the library. I couldn’t believe it. There were tons of books. It almost seemed like thousands.

The library became my favorite place in the world. It was such a wonderful place. Not to mention, the librarian was so nice with her hair tied up in a neat little bun at the back of her head. I soon forgot about those little children’s books. I was older now. As a 7-year-old, I could read the books for big kids.

Series books such as the Sweet Valley Twins and the Baby-sitters Club were my top priority. Once I began reading the huge, 76-page chapter books, there was no turning back. I was a goner. I was a reading addict. I would try to read every single second of the day.

During breakfast, I pull the cereal box towards me to read the ingredients. I didn’t care how boring it was. I just needed to lay my eyes on something. My eyes hungered for consonants and vowels. (It was fascinating to see how many words end with the letters “ium.”)

At dinner, my father hated to see me with my nose poked into the inside of the book. He wanted what any normal father wanted – a conversation with his daughter. But instead of talking to a young girl, he would find himself facing the newest spine-chilling cover of the new Nancy Drew book.

Back during my childhood, reading was everything to me. Each page took me into a world I had never been. With Nancy Drew, I could join the girl detective as she sneaked into houses undetected and escaped exploding bombs. In a “Tale of Two Cities,” I always wondered what it would feel like the novel’s heroine, the beautiful young woman who was loved by two men. I even imagined myself as one of the Boxcar Children who were trying to live on their own, never knowing their grandfather lived just miles away.

However, now that I’m in college, I can’t believe how much I’ve changed. It’s a miracle if I can find the time to read at least one book in a span of six months. With all the work I have, the homework and exams, I feel lucky to have some free time just to go and catch a movie with some of my friends. It would be nice if just for a little bit I could be transformed to that little girl who had all the time in the world to read all the books she wanted to read.

R.H. Aly is a senior in journalism and history. She can be reached for comment at [email protected].